I'M AFRAID (NOT)

So this piece of rope walks into a bar, sits down, and tells the bartender, “I’ll have a Jack & Coke.” The bartender looks up at the rope and is astonished! Bartender says to the rope, “Look dude, we don’t serve pieces of rope in this establishment!” Oooh, that pissed Mr. Rope off. He starts doing all these crazy gyrations, genuflecting, and twisting himself up in a bind. He grabs a straight razor and starts shaving himself. He stares at the bartender and says, “Piece of rope? I’m a frayed knot!”

Two hours of highway driving on Mondays and Fridays allows me much time to think. Perhaps, too much. I think about what I’ve written thus far in this here bloggie. I try to mix it up a little, keep you a bit off balance, all within the context of me simply writing for me. So I think about general topics and what’s going on in my life. Happenstances intercept my preconceived pattern. So I drive and I think. Rarely do I come up with anything good. It’s my pal Gazoo that’s the driving force of my creativity. He pops into my brain and jolts me with an idea or a concept, and I take it from there. Case in point, this post.

I’m doing around 82 in a 70 MPH zone on Interstate 75, and I see a State Trooper up ahead. OK everybody, what’s our knee-jerk reaction? Hit the breaks, right? Not me. Not anymore. I see the cars ahead of me, their taillights now illuminated, their rate of speed decreasing. I say to myself aloud, “get out of the left lane boys, I’m coming through.” For I no longer have time for fear. No time to be afraid of a little ol’ cop. I may be fearless now, perhaps to a fault, but I’m not totally stupid. My only concession is trying to get back to the right lane, the ‘slow’ lane. I speed past the trooper. It’s a scenario that’s repeated on average of about five times per trip. At the same time I’m passing my blue light friend, my mind conjures up an excuse or rather a story I may need to relate as to why I’m speeding. My story is an honest one. Yes I’m speeding officer, but I’m not being reckless and I consider it reasonable. I’ve been driving for 28 years and have never gotten a ticket. Give me a ticket if you must, but I’d really like to keep this streak going. I’m fairly OK at storytelling, no? Hmm, maybe he’ll buy it? I’m not very good at getting to the point however, but bear with me. I’m getting there.

The story to Mr. Trooper, my confidence, my living-on-the-edge attitude, and yes, my new driving pattern all coincide with the changes I’ve made within myself. I’ve talked about the Garden State-of-mind. Gazoo told me that an analysis and comparison of one’s driving pattern to one’s personality may make for some interesting writing and discussion points. Ahh, so that’s where we’re going! So let’s delve, shall we?

For the past 16 years, up until last May, I drove my baby. It (I don’t go for the personification of describing a car as a she), was the first car I bought on my own. A 5-speed 1989 Honda Civic. A fast car, it was not, conservative actually. A lot like I was back then. And I drove it that way, too. Hovering barely over the speed limit, worried about getting a ticket to ruin my perfect driving record. Like Rainman, I’m an excellent driver. At least I was back then. Playing it safe, driving in the right lane, totally a straight shooter. Ah, but that was the Old Me.

The Civic had 115,000 miles on it when I drove from Phoenix to Plantation. Like Cameron Frye of Ferris Bueller fame, I killed the car. That 2,500 mile journey was too much. I took it to a Honda dealer and got an estimate of about $5,000 to fix everything. The car was worth maybe half of that. I needed a new car, and I needed it soon before my baby totally stopped running.

Timing is everything. I should certainly know that. My timing with women sucks. But I digress. A good friend of mine was buying a new car, so I asked him if he wanted to sell his old one to me? He agreed. The deal was simple and done. For a mere $9,500, I was the proud new owner of a 1998 C230 Mercedes-Benz. My sentimental feelings for my Civic were forgotten in about an hour. Wow! I had a stereo AND air conditioning! And compared to my Civic, this car felt and drove like a race car.

I think the last of the Old Me went with my old car. With the new car, came more of the New Me. I’m driving faster, no fear of getting a ticket, driving more aggressively, more carefree, more loose, enjoying the ride, driving in the left lane, blasting my music, having a ball. Now I’m not to the point of reckless, but I don’t think my driving is necessarily excellent anymore. I’m accelerating faster and stopping shorter, cutting corners sharper, laughing at myself. Yes, this *is* the new me. And I’m willing to bet that for each of us, our driving pattern mirrors our personalities and approach to life. My particular patterns, old *and* new, match precisely.

Afraid? Not. I’m confident now. I no longer fear getting a ticket, or fear flying, or fear death, or fear pretty women, or fear dating, or fear courtrooms with bitchy divorce lawyers trying to intimidate me, or fear CFO’s/CEOs, or fear pissing off clients, or fear eating raw fish, or fear being intimate with women, or fear the unknown, or fear being alone. Well, maybe that last one is a bit of a stretch, but I *am* working hard on it.